Hope

            Before it all began, I was a simple girl working in a small village. There was nothing special about me�"except I trained daily to be a strong swordswoman. Other than that, I was completely average. I was stubborn, short-tempered, and the only person I ever listened to was my mother. She was my hero and she always will be.

            “What?! You want to marry a lower-classman?!...Why?” I exclaimed.

            Mother had just finished proclaiming her love for a man who was several leagues beneath us in status. We were middle-class because my mother was born to a wealthy father who, like my mother, married beneath him. Smiling at me, Mother laughed.

            “…It’s love, dear. I love him very much.”

            “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

            Mother’s smile instantly vanished. My face reddened as I realized what I said. Mother had been married once before to a nobleman wealthier than us. However, he was sadistic and forceful. Upon refusing to annul the marriage, he killed my grandparents. In order to protect herself and me, Mother killed him. Due to the respect the villagers had for her, they deduced Mother had no choice. She wasn’t prosecuted with his death, but that day left her feeling like her parents’ deaths were her fault. They warned her not to marry that man but, like me, she wouldn’t listen. Now, she claims she is in love again. I wonder if this is the same ‘love’ she felt for her previous husband.

            “I-I know, but this is different.”

            “If this is what you want, I’ll stand by you. If you love him, then do what you have to.”

            “Oh, Anya!” Mother embraced me tightly. “You’ll see, he’s a wonderful man. We’ll be alright. Don’t worry about the money. It will all be okay.”

            For that moment, wrapped in my mother’s arms, I believed those words completely. Things changed when the man moved into our house. Financially, we were tight. We had to downsize our house and lifestyle, but we were happy. The man, my new Father, was gentle, and he radiated with love for my mother. That was all I needed to love him myself. Life was perfect�"almost.

            “I’m home.”

            “Dear, what’s wrong?” Mother asked in concern as Father unexpectedly hugged her.

            “A war is coming. Every able-bodied man and boy is being called to serve.”

            “What?! We’re so far away from the kingdom. Can they really call you to serve a king we’ve never seen or met before?”

            I could hear bitterness in my mother’s voice. I knew how she felt. Tears welled up in my eyes.

            “I have to fight. Don’t worry,” Father assured her as he stroked her face tenderly. “I will come home. I promise.”

            And so, Father left to fight a war we had only just learned about. He never made promises he couldn’t keep, ever. That should have given me hope, right? Wrong. I knew, deep in my heart, he wouldn’t come back. And guess what? I was right. A year passed before Mother and I were informed that the king’s army had fallen. Father was among the captured soldiers who were publicly executed by an unknown enemy. Mother mourned for him. I mourned as well, although it was more because of the pain she was in. I had never seen her like that before and my heart ached.

            Three months later, the land was overtaken by the enemy. Who were they? None of us knew. A year earlier we were living quiet, normal lives. Now, chaos was everywhere. Men in armor come monthly to collect taxes. We were told that as long as we pay a tax, we were citizens of the kingdom. If we didn’t or were unable to pay, we would be branded as traitors and either executed or banished. Mother struggled desperately to pay the tax on top of our overwhelming finances. I could tell the burden was draining her. Using the training Mother taught me, I participated in secret underground tournaments to earn some money. The villagers had developed this tournament to give us a chance to provide for our families. Some of the soldiers from the kingdom betted on the fights. For them, it was a form of entertainment but, for us, it was our only means of survival.

            “Next!...You’re a small fellow, aren’t you?” I nodded, my face barely hidden beneath my hood. The scruffy-haired man in charge of registration narrowed his eyes. He studied me, scratching his half-bald head as he did so. Finally, he scribbled a number on a piece of paper and shoved it across the table. “Wait, for your number to be called. You will receive your opponent’s number when the match begins.”

            I took the paper and found a spot away from the crowd where I could practice my swings before the match. I’m sure that if Mother ever found out I was doing this, she would beat me senseless. The only condition she had when she taught me was that I would only use it in emergencies and to defend myself. In these days, it was uncommon�"even barbaric�"for a girl to learn the way of the sword. If Grandfather hadn’t taught Mother how to defend herself, I wouldn’t have received training at all. For that, I was grateful. Fighting in this tournament, I could prove I was good enough to fight alongside any man. Keeping my identity as a girl concealed was the worst part though. One of these days, everyone will know my name. They will know me as Anya, the best female swordswoman of this era!

            “All fighters report to the arena!”

            I returned my sword to its sheath and followed the other fighters. We all strode down a dark tunnel, each carrying a confidence that we prayed would carry us to victory. How cruel is the world to instill hope of victory into every individual when only some are meant to reach it.

Reviews

[hi]

ok i write stories and try to put emotion in there but somehow even though i put more info in my stories it seems like you can do more with less words...how i dont get it

good write